


Do No Harm

by siriusblue



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Homophobic Language, Hostage Situations, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, John is a Very Good Doctor, M/M, Religious Fanaticism, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-05-17 14:51:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14834363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriusblue/pseuds/siriusblue
Summary: Greg and Mike's relationship is progressing nicely. They're in love. What could be better? It takes the fallout from a recent case of Mike's for Greg to realise just how incredibly precious Mike is to him and to what lengths Greg will go to safeguard what's his.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting a warning here for emotional abuse, homophobic ranting and general swivel-eyed lunacy.

DO NO HARM

  
  
  


The curtains round the hospital cubicle opened slightly to admit a plump middle-aged man with dark hair and glasses. He gave the distraught mother a reassuring smile before turning his attention to the small boy on the examination couch.

 

“Hello, Isaac. My name's Mike. I heard you've got a poorly tummy, is that right?”

 

The boy nodded but didn't speak.

 

“Is it okay if I ask your mam about it?”

 

Nod.

 

Mike Stamford turned to the boy's mother, his experienced gaze taking in her pallor, her raw, chapped hands, sober dress and utterly defeated expression. He had come across many victims of domestic abuse in his time and every time it filled him with a boiling rage he had become practised at hiding. 

 

“Okay, Mrs Wright. How long has he been poorly?”

 

She didn't make eye contact, she stared at her knees as she spoke.

 

“He told me his stomach hurt a few days ago. Then he was sick.”

 

“Is he normally fit and well? Doing okay at school? Had all his immunisations?” asked Mike.

 

She shook her head, twisting her thin wedding ring round and round on her finger.

 

“We don't believe in doctors. They are the agents of Satan. We teach Isaac at home to shield him from the corruption of the world.”

 

“Fair enough. But he still got ill. What did you do about it?”

 

“We prayed for him. Our pastor laid hands on his stomach and bade his pain be gone in the name of the Saviour.”

 

Mike kept his expression neutral with the greatest of difficulty.

 

“It didn't work. Isaac got worse. I wanted to bring him here but my husband...he forbade it. He said that either the Lord would heal Isaac or…”

 

She swallowed audibly.

 

“Or Isaac had been too sinful to be allowed to get better.”

 

Save me from religious nutters, thought Mike angrily. How in the name of sanity did they think a young lad of eight guilty of a hellworthy trespass?

 

“All right. I'd like to examine him now,” said Mike. He turned to the boy and gave him a winning smile.

 

“Right, bonny lad. Do you want to point to where it really hurts?”

 

Shyly Isaac pointed to the right side of his stomach.

 

“Well done. Now, I'm going to have a bit prod, okay? Your Mam can hold your hand if you like.”

 

The boy nodded and his mother stood and held his hand tightly as Mike examined him. 

 

Mike’s touch only confirmed the diagnosis he had made within seconds of entering the cubicle. He crouched down beside Isaac and spoke softly to him and his mother.

 

“You've got appendicitis, bonny lad. You're going to have to have an operation to take it out. I'm going to ring upstairs so they can get the theatre ready and we'll get cracking. I just need to have a word with your mam outside a minute and we'll get you sorted.”

 

Mike gestured to the woman to follow him and he guided her into the room usually reserved for breaking bad news to relatives. She sat, her red-rimmed eyes terrified at what he was going to say.

 

“You have to sign his consent form,” said Mike gently. “His appendix is about to burst. If you hadn't brought him in, he would have died.”

 

She let out a strangled sob as he handed her the clipboard with the forms and showed her where to sign.

 

“Thank you,” he said sincerely once it was done. She started to cry soundlessly, tears splashing off the backs of her hands as she bent her head.

 

“Hey,” said Mike putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You did the right thing. It's a simple operation and he'll be just fine afterwards.”

 

“I'm going to hell,” she said in a flat voice. “I disobeyed my husband and the covenants of our church.”

 

Mike stood there as he knew there was more to come.

 

“But I wouldn't let anything happen to my Isaac. It doesn't matter what he does to me. I did the right thing!”

 

Mike took her back to her son and arranged to have him taken to theatre. As he was leaving to scrub up, he snagged the nurse practitioner.

 

“Alison, Isaac Wright's mam. Can you have a word? Looks like she's living with a nutter and she might need to escape.”

 

“Leave it with me, Mike,” she said reassuringly. “I'll talk to her.”

  
  
  


In theatre Mike removed an organ on the very brink of giving the boy peritonitis and glued him back together. That done, he carried on with the rest of the trauma list.

 

As he left for the night, he popped onto the paediatric ward to find his patient sound asleep and doing well according to his chart. Isaac’s mother got up and clasped Mike's hands.

 

“Thank you. You saved him.”

 

“It's what I do best, pet.” said Mike gruffly. “Now promise me you'll look after yourself. And your boy.”

 

She stood there in her shabby clothes as proud and fierce as a lioness.

 

“I'm  _ never _ going back to him. I almost lost my son because I listened to my husband. Once Isaac is well enough, we're going to a refuge. The lovely lady downstairs told me of somewhere that will take us and we can start again.”

 

Mike smiled. He had seen something like this before. Maternal love could burn through the strongest faith if said faith threatened the children.

 

“Good luck,” he told her.

 

*

 

Mike had been home a couple of hours. The dinner was almost ready; the wine uncorked and breathing when the doorbell rang.

 

“Come in, pet.” Mike yelled. “It's open!”

 

A smiling Greg Lestrade walked into the living room.

 

“Speaking as a senior police officer, your security's terrible.” Greg teased as he took Mike into his arms and kissed him. “ I could have been anyone!”

 

Mike just grinned, unabashed.

 

“Dinner’s ready. Hope you're hungry.”

 

“Starving,” admitted Greg. “I didn't get much chance to eat today.”

 

“It's a lovely night,” said Mike. “I thought we could eat outside. I've got the firepit going.”

 

“Sounds perfect. Do you need a hand with anything?”

 

“You can take the salad and the garlic bread out. I'll bring the rest.”

 

Under a deep purple sky scattered with stars Greg tucked into some of the best ravioli he had ever tasted, mopping up the sauce with the last of the garlic bread as Mike watched, delighted with Greg's enthusiasm.

 

“You're a fabulous cook,” said Greg as they watched moths fluttering round the light of the firepit. “I don't tell you often enough.”

 

“Good to know those Italian cookery classes didn't go to waste. They stopped me fella starving to death.”

 

“Not much chance of that,” laughed Greg, patting his stomach and Mike's eyes gleamed. “I'll clean up,” he added, getting up and gathering in the dirty dishes. Once everything had been set to rights and the dishwasher running, Greg rejoined Mike on the garden bench where they sipped the rest of the wine and chatted about their respective days. 

 

Once the wine was done, Mike leaned in for a kiss which Greg returned so enthusiastically they decided, by unspoken consent, to move inside so as not to frighten Mike's neighbours.

 

In the warm afterglow of sex, Greg snuggled up to his lover.

 

“Are you working tomorrow?” Greg asked.

 

“Not till the afternoon,” replied Mike as he stroked Greg's hair, his eyes growing heavy. “Breakfast at Gino’s?”

 

“You read my mind,” smiled Greg.

 

Greg watched Mike fall asleep in his arms and held him a little tighter.

 

Six months they had been together and Greg did not regret a single day. All the good things in his life currently stemmed from Mike Stamford. Love, companionship, incredible sex and seemingly endless laughter with no pressure on either of them to make it official or even for them to live together. 

 

Perhaps it was because they had lived alone too long or that they were at a certain age but both of them valued their own space and respected the need in the other, yet Greg was completely head over heels and blessed the Crouch End Florist case that had brought them together.

 

He knew Mike was less sure; his last relationship had left him with a lot of issues but with gentle tolerance and a patience Greg wouldn't have believed he possessed, they were working through them.

 

It was what you did for the people you loved, Greg reasoned. And he did love Mike one hell of a lot, enough to want to spend the rest of his days with him in whatever way Mike wanted.

 

The love of Greg Lestrade's life started snoring gently and Greg was smiling as he closed his eyes.

 

*

 

_ Two weeks later _

 

“That's the lot, Win.” said Mike as he dropped the Dictaphone cassettes on his secretary's desk. “There's no rush, pet. Just routine stuff. Get yourself away early and surprise Ted.”

 

Winifred Alderson tried and failed to look stern. She had been Mr Stamford's secretary since he had been a consultant and she was fiercely protective of him. She worried a lot less about his personal life now that he was being courted by the handsome policeman whose photograph adorned his desk but she still thought he worked too hard. She was due to retire in six months and prayed that her replacement would appreciate what a wonderful boss they were getting.

 

“I'll still type them up,” she insisted. “Then we can leave together. You've got a date tonight, haven't you? I'm sure your Greg would appreciate you not turning up looking like death warmed over.”

 

Mike grinned as he said.

 

“Honestly, if I didn't know me sister was in Barbados I'd swear you were channelling her spirit. She nags like that as well.”

 

Winifred shooed him back to his office and picked up the first of the cassettes.

 

Mike woke his computer from standby and gazed at the holiday website he had been furtively browsing. The Canary Islands sounded wonderful and he longed to take Greg there. Sun, sea and sand. Possibly the ideal spot for a proposal?

 

Then he heard Win’s voice from the outer office.

 

“You can't just barge in here like that! Mr Stamford is extremely busy…”

 

There was a cry of pain followed by a thud but Mike was already out of his seat and into the other office.

 

Win lay unconscious in a pool of blood which still oozed from her head from where she had been struck. 

 

Mike turned, enraged, to take on the perpetrator and found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

 

He slipped his hand into the pocket of his lab coat and found the emergency button on his pager, pressing it twice as he had been shown.

 

“What the hell have you done to my secretary?” Mike yelled at the gunman. 

 

“She will live.” The man wielding the shotgun looked to be in his thirties. Charity shop clothes, scruffy beard and the cold light of fanaticism in his otherwise dead eyes. “Women have no place whoring themselves for money. It is against God's holy ordinance. Let me see your hands, blasphemer. I would have this conversation undisturbed before I send you to Hell where you belong.”

 

Mike raised his hands, crossing his toes that the cavalry would arrive quickly.

 

“All right, bonny lad. What have I done to you?”

 

“Destroyed my family. Made me a laughing stock amongst my brethren. Dared to lay hands on my child.”

 

“Oh shit.” Mike closed his eyes. He knew exactly who this was and he knew he would be lucky to get out of this in one piece.

 

The gunman raised the shotgun to his shoulder.

 

“Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord. And I will repay.”

 

TBC


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With nothing to lose Mike tells a few home truths while Greg races to the scene.

 

  
  
  


The door to Mike's office opened and Steve the security guard stood framed in the doorway.

 

“Mr Stamford, your emergency bleep sounded...holy shit!”

 

It ended on a squeak as the gunman turned and aimed.

 

“Run, Steve!” yelled Mike.

 

The sound of the shotgun blast was deafening and answered Mike's unspoken question as to whether the bloody thing was loaded. Through a haze of smoke and cordite, Isaac’s father gestured with the barrel, forcing Mike to walk backwards into his inner office.

 

“They'll send for the police,” warned Mike, his voice sounding strange in his still-ringing ears. “You won't get out of this.”

 

The gunman sneered.

 

“Let them come. Every great cause has its martyrs and my name will join them.”

 

“As what?” Mike asked angrily. He knew deep down that he shouldn't antagonise the man but instead of being fearful for his life he was bloody furious. “Someone who knocks out old ladies and shoots an unarmed surgeon whose only crime was to save your son's life?”

 

“You had no right!” thundered the gunman. “My son's life belongs to God. It was His will if he should live or die!”

 

“It was an inflamed appendix, nothing to do with divine intervention. Look. When I qualified as a doctor I took an oath. Part of that oath was the promise to do no harm and letting Isaac die of peritonitis would have been pretty fucking harmful, don't you think? His mam certainly thought so.”

 

“They are dead. When the Lord descends to give judgement they will be cast  into the flames with the other apostates and blasphemers. He will find them.”

 

Which means you haven't, thought Mike. Thank fuck.

 

The phone on Mike's desk rang, its shrill tone made the gunman start.

 

“That'll be the police.” Mike said. “They'll want to talk to you.”

 

“I will say what I need after I have finished with you.”

 

“Fair enough, but they won't stop trying. And I don't know about you but that ringing is doing my head in.”

 

“Stand against the wall.” the gunman instructed. Mike obliged.

 

He picked up the receiver and Mike could hear some quality squawking on the other end.

 

“The blasphemer still lives,” said the gunman. “But not for long.”

 

He hung up and Mike's heart rate tripled as he picked up the photograph from Mike's desk.

 

“Who is this?” he asked, waving the photo of a gently smiling Greg at him. Mike loved that picture, it made him smile every time he looked at it. Even in the last seconds probably left to him there was no way he was going to deny his Greg and what he was to him.

 

“My partner,” Mike replied. “My lover. My boyfriend. The man I hope to marry.”

 

The gunman’s features contorted in loathing and he threw the picture at the wall. Mike winced as the glass shattered.

 

“A sodomite! This is worse than even I imagined! You  _ dared _ to place your sick, depraved hands on my child. You  _ dared. _ Your kind have no right to life. The Bible forbids it. Your congress with your own sex is an abomination!”

 

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Mike snarled. “I heard all that shit thirty years ago. You don't grow up gay in the North without hearing some terrible things and having the shit kicked out of you. Those kind of insults aren't even in the top ten of the worst I've heard.”

 

“And you will hear no more.”

 

*

 

As he left the Old Bailey, Greg was smiling. It always felt good to get a proper copper-bottomed conviction and this had been particularly sweet. He shook hands with his opposite number in the Drug Squad and reclaimed his car to drive back to the Yard. 

 

Victory was very sweet. He was looking forward to celebrating with Mike later that night. Dinner, drinks and then see where the night led, as long as it ended in either his or Mike's bed.

 

He drove into the car park and was mildly bemused to see the tactical group of SO19 flying out like someone had just lit a fire under them.

 

Greg didn't make it to the office. Just inside the doors Sally Donovan was waiting for him.

 

“Great result, Sally!” said Greg with a beaming smile which disappeared when he saw how pale she was and how she was chewing her bottom lip.

 

“What's wrong?” he asked.

 

“There's a hostage situation. One injured and one hostage is the latest report.”

 

“So that's where they were going. So? It's not our division.”

 

She grabbed his arms and shook him.

 

“Greg! It's at Barts! Mike Stamford is the hostage!”

 

“Fuck! I need to get down there.”

 

“We both do.” Greg looked at her askance but she was resolute. “You're not driving anywhere, you'll end up killing your daft self. Gimme your keys.”

 

In a daze Greg handed them over as they retraced his steps to the car. Mike was in danger. If anything happened to him Greg wouldn't be able to cope.

 

In six short months he had been more loved, cherished and cared for than he had ever been in his whole adult life and the thought of losing the person who was responsible for it was unbearable. Sally tried to reassure him but her words were wasted. Greg would not rest until he knew Mike was safe.

 

The hospital had been evacuated and the area cordoned off. An older woman was being treated for what looked like a head injury in the back of an ambulance.

 

Greg felt his stomach churn as he recognised Mike's secretary. He had met her and her husband at a black-tie do a couple of months ago. Mike had admitted that he couldn't manage without her.

 

Greg headed to the SO19 van where he was delighted to find DI Fairchild as SIO.

 

“Hey, Greg. What are you doing here? It's not an MIT shout.” The DI was warmly curious.

 

“What's going on, Dominic? I need to know. I need to get in there.”

 

“Woah, I wasn't kidding about this being nothing to do with MIT. It's some nutter with a shotgun. Got one of the docs held in his office. My team's going in now...Christ, Greg! You're as white as a sheet!”

 

“The doctor is his boyfriend,” explained Sally.

 

DI Fairchild looked aghast. 

 

“Sorry, mate. I had no idea. Look, come into the ops van with me. You'll be able to hear everything. I know there's no point in telling you to go back to the Yard.”

 

“None,” snarled Greg. “Let's go.”

 

The three officers climbed into the back of the van which raised the eyebrows of the officers operating the AV equipment.

 

“Concentrate on the job,” said Fairchild briskly.

 

The audio was scratchy but the team leader’s voice was confident.

 

_ Outside the holding area now. No clear point of egress except the office door. Team in position, guv. Say the word. _

 

Fairchild looked at Greg as he merely said “Go!”

 

There was a burst of static then the team leader's voice was heard again.

 

_ Shots fired. I repeat, shots fired. The hostage is down. Perpetrator is confined. Need a medic in here right now. Over. _

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the cliffhanger. Just remember the tags abd don't yell too much C:


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the shooting.

 

 

Greg felt the earth tip and sway beneath him. He grasped Sally's arm hard enough to bruise, but she didn't notice.

 

“No!” Greg wailed. “No…”

 

There was real sorrow in Fairchild’s eyes as he requested an update.

 

“Unit one. Report. Damn it, report!”

 

Crackle. Crackle. Hiss.

 

“I'm going in there,” said Greg, his tone utterly deadly as if he wanted them to try and stop him.

 

“Greg…” That was Sally.

 

He pushed her away roughly and jumped out of the van.

 

Mike, his Mike was dead. When was the last time Greg had told Mike he loved him? When was the last time he had done anything to show Mike how much he meant to him? He couldn't remember. They had just been pleasantly winging it. Living for the moment. Now he and Mike had run out of moments and Greg felt utterly crushed by the amount of things left unsaid and undone.

 

The officer in charge of the cordon raised a hand to stop him, took one look at Greg's face and stood aside.

 

Bart's entrance hall was emptier than Greg had ever seen it. The area had obviously been evacuated when word that one of their own was being held hostage by some dangerous lunatic with a gun. 

 

As he stood there, indecisive, two of Fairchild's men appeared dragging a dazed-looking handcuffed man between them. Greg knew the signs of someone who had been tasered.

 

“Is that him?” asked Greg roughly. “Is that the bastard that killed Mike?”

 

“I dunno how you got in here, but what's it got to do with you?” asked one of them, gesturing with an evidence bag that held a shotgun.

 

His friend gave him a warning glance.

 

“That's Inspector Lestrade, Simon. From MIT.”

 

“Sorry, sir. This is the culprit, yeah. But Mr Stamford's not dead. He's in resus. Hey, they won't let you in there…”

 

Greg was gone, running along the maze of corridors to the Accident and Emergency department with Sally close on his heels.

 

“Greg, wait!” she panted. “He's right. They won't let you in!”

 

He stopped so suddenly she cannoned into him and almost sent the pair of them flying.

 

“I have to get in there, Sally. I need to know how bad it is.” said Greg distractedly, running his hands through his hair. 

 

The department was eerily quiet but Greg knew where the resus room was and made his way there only to be thwarted yet again.

 

“No.”

 

The tall red haired woman in scrubs, who Greg might have recognised if he wasn't so distraught, barred his way.

 

“Get out of my way or I'll arrest you.” Greg snarled.

 

“No. I honestly can't let you in there unless you're a radiologist or a surgeon. And you're neither. You'll have to wait.”

 

“Please. I need to see him.” Greg was practically begging at this point. She grabbed his arms and her cool blue gaze slowly calmed him.

 

“Greg, look at me.” she insisted. Her eyes were full of compassion and the last of his confusion left him.

 

“Alison? Shit, I'm so sorry.”

 

The two women shared a mordant glance over Greg's shoulder. 

 

“He's alive. Once the doctors have finished their assessment of him, I'll try and get you in. Please, Greg. Just go and sit in the waiting room and I'll come and get you, okay?”

 

With very bad grace, Greg returned to the waiting area and slumped into a seat, rubbing his face with his hands and emitting a low groan. Sally knelt in front of him.

 

“Greg, listen. I'm going back to the Yard. I can hitch a lift with Dominic. I'll square things with the Chief Super, tell him what's happened. Here.” Sally pressed his car keys into his hand.

 

“I hope Mike's okay,” she continued. “Text me when you get any news, yeah?”

 

“I will. Thanks, Sally. You're a good mate.”

 

She rummaged in the pocket of her trousers and pulled out a handful of change.

 

“Take this too. For the vending machine. You might have a long wait.”

 

“I owe you one,” said Greg.

 

“No you don't. Not after everything you've done for me over the years.”

 

She stood up, squeezed Greg's shoulder and left.

 

Greg sat staring into space, his imagination working overtime.

 

Just how badly was Mike injured? Unfortunately Greg knew exactly how much damage a shotgun blast could do, especially at point-blank range. Mike might be blinded. He might have his internal organs shredded or he might lose a limb.

 

In a daze Greg got up and acquired a cup of vending machine coffee. The taste was so utterly foul that it distracted him briefly from the thoughts careening round his head.

 

“Christ, that's vile!” he muttered.

 

People were starting to drift back in, presumably the folks who had been evacuated when the alarm had been raised.

 

Greg resented them. How dare they need help? Didn't they know they'd be taking expertise away from Mike? He knew deep down that he was being irrational but he couldn't help himself.

 

Mike would need looking after however badly he'd been hurt. Greg entertained the thought of resigning so he could be the one to do it and was amazed that the thought didn't fill him with horror. 

 

He was pondering how easy it would be to have Mike's house specially adapted when Alison appeared in front of him.

 

“You can come in now,” she said with a grin. “He knows you're here and he's refusing treatment till he sees you, the stubborn git.”

 

“Is that safe?” Greg asked, appalled. She merely rolled her eyes in reply.

 

Greg crashed through the doors of the resus room then stopped, unable to believe his eyes.

 

Mike was awake and talking to another young woman in scrubs who was laying out a set of instruments on a trolley. He looked somewhat diminished without his glasses and was deathly pale. A massive bruise had formed on his temple. He was naked to the waist and the left side of his chest was flayed and bloody. On the other side he was hooked up to a drip of colourless liquid.

 

Greg stepped forward. “Mike…” he began.

 

“Hello, pet.” Mike's grin was more than goofy and Greg realised he was stoned to the high blue sky. “No offence, bonny lad but you look like shit.”

 

Greg was suddenly blinded by tears of relief and he stumbled over to the bed.

 

“I thought I'd lost you,” he sobbed. He didn't care that someone else was there to witness this. All that mattered in that second was Mike. “I couldn't bear it.” Greg confessed. He muffled his tears in the sheet, Mike's hand tentatively stroking his hair and making soothing noises.

 

Once his tears had stopped he raised his head and gave Mike what had to be a very damp.kiss on the lips.

 

“I love you,” he said, sincerity in every word. “How on earth did you survive that?”

 

Mike giggled then winced.

 

“Ow. Let Suzanne get started on removing the pellets and I'll tell you. Suzanne, this is my Greg. Okay if he stays?”

 

The young woman scowled at Mike.

 

“Yes, why not? If I ask him to leave you'll just sulk till I let him back in. Hope you've got a strong stomach, Greg.”

 

Greg watched, fascinated, as she infiltrated the bloody area with what he presumed was local anaesthetic, Mike wincing at the needle’s sting.

 

“Give that a minute,” she said. 

 

“So what happened?” Greg asked.

 

“I don't mind admitting it, pet, I was shitting myself. He smashed your picture and called me...well, let's not dwell on that part. Then he shot me.”

 

“But…”

 

Mike giggled again but Greg failed to see what was funny.

 

“Luckily for me, he couldn't hit a coo’s arse with a banjo. I did get hit and it knocked me off me feet. Banged me head on the way down off the desk. Next thing I know I'm in here and they're cutting off that beautiful cashmere jersey you bought me. He was all the way across the room when he shot me See, the pellets had to get through me lab coat, me jersey and me shirt, not to mention a fair bit of padding before they did any real damage. Most of them are just under the skin. Suzanne here might have to dig a bit for the rest.”

 

She tutted and muttered something about idiot consultants who should know better.

 

“I'm going to start now, Mr Stamford.” she told him as she placed an x-ray film on the lightboard above him. “Just yell if it starts to hurt.”

 

“I will. Get cracking, Doctor Miller.”

 

Slowly and methodically she started to remove the shotgun pellets with, Mike assured Greg, toothed forceps and a fine blade scalpel, dropping each pellet into a kidney dish with a metallic clunk.

 

“So why you?” Greg asked.

 

Mike sighed. “I operated on his little boy a few days ago. Acute appendicitis. Thing is, he's one of those Christian cult members. No medicine or schools and keep the women barefoot, beaten and chained to the kitchen sink. Luckily for the little lad his mam had the sense to bring him here instead of hoping for a miracle. After the operation him and his mother went to a refuge. I suppose the father was a bit pissed off that his tea wasn't on the table when he got back from harassing ordinary people and decided to get his own back. Couldn't find his family so he decided that I would do. “

 

Mike paused and touched Suzanne’s wrist.

 

“Have we heard anything about Win?”

 

“She's going to be okay, Mike. Apart from a screaming headache.”

 

“Thank heavens. I'm going to press charges, Greg.”

 

“I should bloody hope so!” Greg yelled. “You could have died! There's no way he's getting away with it.”

 

“Listen, bonny lad. I'm pressing charges to protect Isaac and his mam. He can't hurt them if he's in prison or in the funny farm. He needs help and they need to get on with their lives without always looking over their shoulders.”

 

Greg was taken aback, yet again, by Mike's faith in humanity and by his seemingly endless compassion. 

 

“Right, that's the lot,” Suzanne announced. “I'll page x-ray to make sure I got all of them then I'll close you up.”

 

“Hurry, bonny lass. It's freezing in here.” Mike added.

 

Suzanne returned from using the phone and smiled to herself. The two men were whispering to each other and Greg hadn't let go of Mike's hand all the time he had been there. Those two were the real deal right enough.

 

“X-ray is coming. Your CT scan came back too.”

 

“Don't tell me they found a brain?” laughed Mike

 

“Undamaged, luckily. Must be that thick skull of yours.”

 

“Oi! Just remember who's going to be signing you off to be an F2.”

 

“Anyway, there's a bed ready upstairs on the elderly frail ward when I'm done with you.”

 

Mike turned to Greg in mock exasperation. “See what I have to.put up with? She's a cheeky bugger isn't she? Just as well she's one of the best young surgeons I've trained in years.”

 

Greg smiled as the colour rose in the young woman's face and she tried not to look too proud.

 

The x-rays were done and Mike's deepest wounds were closed with what looked to Greg like superglue before being covered with dressings and held in place with what could easily have been a fishing net. Greg helped Mike into a hospital gown and supported him as the porter arrived to take him to the ward. As soon as Mike was settled into a comparatively comfortable single room, Greg excused himself.

 

“I have to go back to the Yard and arrange some time off,” he explained. 

 

“I'll be in here for a couple of days at least.” Mike informed him. He looked a little bit apprehensive. “Would you...I mean not if you don't want to but…”

 

Greg shut him off with a kiss.

 

“Whenever your doctors say you're ready to be discharged, you're coming home with me so I can look after you. No arguments.” he concluded firmly. 

 

Mike looked relieved and Greg kissed him again.

 

“I'll be back later. Try and get some sleep.”

 

Greg smiled to himself as he made his way back to the Yard.

 

His life was about to change again and he had some serious thinking to do.

 

He couldn't wait.

 

TBC

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for all the lovely people who hoped I might finish this. I do hope you enjoy the end.

Greg's first port of call on reaching the Yard was to request a meeting with the Detective Superintendent. He was lucky in that his boss wasn't busy and was in a good mood.

 

“What can I do for you, Inspector?” he asked.

 

“I need some time off, sir. My partner has just been shot and he's going to need a bit of looking after when he gets discharged.”

 

The Superintendent looked at Greg over the rim of his glasses, his expression aghast.

 

“Shot? Christ, Greg! Is he...how bad is it?”

 

“No major damage done, sir. He'll be all right eventually but he'll need someone to look after him.”

 

“Yes, of course. Wait, is he that doctor at Bart's? He stood up to that man with the shotgun?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

The Superintendent shook his head.

 

“What was he thinking? He's either incredibly brave or incredibly thick.”

 

Greg's nails dug into the palms of his hands as he fought to control his temper.

 

“As far as I understand it, sir, Mike operated on his son and saved his life. The father wasn't impressed and decided to make it personal. He was some sort of religious nutter.”

 

“They're the worst,” agreed the Superintendent. “Take all the time you need. I'll give Sergeant Donovan a bump up to DI until you come back.”

 

“She deserves it,” said Greg with a smile. “Thank you, sir.”

 

Greg made a quick detour to his office where Sally was waiting.

 

“Mike's going to be okay,” he reassured her and was touched by her expression of sheer relief.

 

“Thank Christ!” Sally exclaimed. “If anything had happened to him…”

 

“Yeah. Look, Sally. Boss wants you as acting DI for a while. I'm taking some time off to look after Mike. Are you up for it?”

 

“Yeah, of course. Take all the time you need, Greg. Give Mike our love and I'll come and see him once he's home. Can't stand hospitals.” She visibly shuddered.

 

“I'll tell him. Thank you.”

 

Greg left the Yard with his heart considerably lighter and made his way back to the hospital.

 

He had just got out of his car when Mike's friend Alison grabbed his arm.

 

“Don't go in there by the front entrance, Greg.” she warned him.

 

“Why?”

 

“It's a complete zoo outside,” she told him. “The press are all over this, wanting to interview Mike and find out what really happened. Most of them know you so you'd be utterly swamped. I'll take you in the staff entrance.”

 

“Thank you. Fucking vultures.” Greg scowled as he caught sight of the swarm of OB vans and reporters hanging around the main entrance, falling on anyone foolish enough to stick their nose outside.

 

He followed Alison inside and made his way up to the ward where Mike was. He was somewhat surprised to see a young PC on guard outside Mike's single room.

 

“Who are you?” the constable asked. 

 

Greg produced his warrant card and smiled to himself at the younger man's consternation.

 

“Inspector! Er…”

 

“Relax, constable. What are you doing here? I understood the offender was in custody. Surely Mr Stamford doesn't need a police guard.”

 

“My inspector sent me to keep the press away, sir, with the nurses having enough to do. Plus the doc's a hero. I'm just here to see he doesn't get disturbed.”

 

“Right. Well, I need to disturb him just for a little while, okay?”

 

“Yes, sir.” The constable stood to one side and let Greg in.

 

The first thing Greg saw was masses and masses of flowers arranged around the room.

 

“Oh sorry, I must've taken a wrong turn. This  _ is  _ Covent Garden, isn't it?” Greg said and was answered by a weak giggle from the bed. Greg crossed over to his lover and kissed him gently on the lips.

 

“Hello love. How are you?” Greg asked.

 

“Not too bad, pet.” Mike replied, his voice croaky. “Pass me that glass of water, will you?”

 

Greg obliged and Mike drained it in two swallows. He gestured to the floral tributes surrounding them, Greg noticing how his left arm was strapped close to his body.

 

“As you can see, I'm dead popular.”

 

“Very,” agreed Greg, holding Mike's hand. “When can I take you home?”

 

“I'm angling for tomorrow.” Mike replied. “Minimum stay is twenty four hours with a concussion as bad as mine and I'm not going to object, Greg. I've got a killer headache and my chest hurts like a bastard. Also the longer I'm here, the more chance there is of another news story breaking and that lot outside going off to bother some other poor sod.”

 

“Fair enough. When you're ready to go home, I'm coming with you. I've arranged it with the Super and I can have as much time as I need to look after you.”

 

“I'm not exactly going to be an invalid.” Mike protested, but Greg had seen the look of gratitude in his eyes.

 

“Tough shit,” said Greg with a smile. “I won't be letting you out of my sight for a long time yet.”

 

He leaned over and kissed Mike again, keeping the heat to a gentle simmer until a pointed throat clearing made him look up. An elfin faced blonde nurse was looking at the pair of them in amused embarrassment.

 

“Sorry to interrupt,”  she said. “I need to do Mr Stamford's obs. It's okay, you don't need to leave, it won't take a minute.” Then she grinned at Mike. “I'll hold off doing your blood pressure for a minute or two though.”

 

Mike.laughed then winced.

 

“Your blood pressure would be high an all if you were snogging someone as gorgeous as my Greg, bonny lass.”

 

“Chance would be a fine thing,” she muttered and got to work.

 

She didn't take long and smiled at Mike when she was finished.

 

“All within expected limits, Mr Stamford.”

 

“Thanks, pet “ he replied, then looked at Greg.

 

“Can you see if my house keys are in that locker?” Mike asked.

 

Greg looked and produced Mike's keyring and his wallet, the wallet was sticky and Greg felt ill when he saw his fingertips turn red for it was sticky with Mike's blood.

 

“Ew,” said Greg, wiping his hand on the sheet which earned him a frown. “Your wallet's ruined.”

 

“Well, you know what to get me for me birthday then, don't you, pet? If I'm going to be living at your house there's one or two things I'll need from mine. Got your notebook?”

 

Greg laughed and took out a flyer that had been left under his windscreen wiper and his pen.

 

“Fire away,” he said then grimaced. “Sorry.”

 

Mike couldn't stop laughing.

 

“You'll be the death of me, Greg.” he chortled. “Just as well I love you.”

 

*

 

_ Some time later outside the Central Criminal Court, London. _

  
  


“It's a fucking travesty!” Greg snarled. Mike took his lover's arm and tried to soothe him.

 

“No, it's not. A Section 37 is not to be sneezed at, love. The Mental Health Act was drawn up for a reason cos prison would be no good for the likes of him. There's a chance he will never see the outside of Broadmoor ever again. He's going to get the help he needs to make sure he never does anything like that again. I'm quite happy with that, and it was me the bugger shot.”

 

“Yeah, all right.” Greg conceded. “Doesn't mean I have to like it though.”

 

Mike smiled and kissed Greg's cheek.

 

“Well, since I'm due back on duty tomorrow, why don't I buy you lunch?”

 

Greg nodded in agreement and they headed off towards their favourite restaurant.

 

“Did I tell you that Isaac and his mam wrote to me?” Mike asked as they waited for the lights to change.

 

“No, I don't think you did,” replied Greg. “I know you got a hell of a lot of mail afterwards. The poor postman almost got a hernia. What did they say?”

 

“It was a lovely letter, Greg. She told me that, thanks to me, they had a proper life. Isaac is going to school now and doing really well, they've got a flat and she's working in a charity shop to build up her confidence. She was horrified about what happened, told me they were both praying for me. Of all the mail and whatnot I got, that's the one I'll keep.”

 

“That's great,” said Greg approvingly. “I'll see it next time I come round to yours.”

 

Mike stopped and looked at his lover.

 

“Mine.” He sighed. “You know, those few weeks I stayed with you were the happiest I can remember. I loved waking up with you every morning, fighting over the telly remote, knowing you were never very far away. I miss that, Greg. I'd like it not to be mine anymore but ours. What do you think?” Mike concluded breathlessly.

 

“Are you, in a roundabout way, asking if we should move in together?” Greg asked, a goofy smile spreading over his whole face.

 

“Yes. Do you think…”

 

Mike never finished the sentence as Greg was too busy kissing him, oblivious to the stares and frowns of passers-by.

 

“Yes.” Greg said when they broke for air. “I miss you not being there and no one makes puttanesca sauce like you.”

 

Mike's eyes gleamed behind his glasses.

 

“So. Your place or mine?”

 

“Let's talk about that over lunch,” suggested Greg.

 

*

 

_ Some time later again _

 

Mike relaxed on the sun lounger beside the private pool of their holiday villa slathered in suncream. He and Greg had been there for almost a week and Mike never wanted to leave this tiny corner of Paradise.

 

Greg emerged from the villa with two glasses choked with ice. Mike didn't think there was a more beautiful sight than his Greg in nothing but very brief swimming shorts and, already, a deep tan.

 

“Your Cuba Libre, sir.” said Greg with a wide smile and Mike sat up, looking at his lover over the rim of his sunglasses.

 

“Thanks, pet. You make an incredibly sexy waiter.”

 

“And you are far too happy for someone wearing  _ those _ shorts,” added Greg.

 

“Wearing pink shorts with blue parrots on isn't a crime, bonny lad.”

 

“It should be,” muttered Greg as he lay on the opposite sunbed and stretched out, all too aware of Mike's appreciative glances.

 

“I promise to get tarted up for tonight,” said Mike. “Stelios is keeping the best table for us.”

 

Greg smiled. The restaurant was perched on the edge of a cliff but the sea views and the incredible food made it a worthwhile trip.

 

“Are we celebrating something?” Greg asked.

 

Mike's hand slid unnoticed under the mattress of the sunbed and touched the ring box he had hidden there and grinned.

 

“Yes we are. We're alive, I live with the most beautiful man on Earth and I love him. To make it even more perfect, he loves me. We should absolutely celebrate that every day of our lives.”

 

Greg leaned over, took Mike's free hand in his and kissed it.

 

“I agree. You know, you can ask me any time you like. You don't need a fancy restaurant or champagne. Go on, “ Greg teased. Mike snorted and Greg smiled. His suspicions had been right.

 

“Bollocks. Serves me right trying to hide anything from a detective. I'm not getting down on one knee, mind.”

 

“I agree. Far too uncomfortable.”

 

“Greg,” said Mike, producing the box like a magician producing a rabbit from a top hat. “Will you marry me?” Mike was appalled to feel his eyes fill with tears.

 

“Yes. Of course I will. I love you, Mike.”

 

Greg stood up and took the box from his emotional fiancé, sliding the platinum band with the three diamonds embedded in it onto his finger. He then pulled Mike to his feet and kissed him, holding his future close to him and dreaming of never letting go.

 

The End.

  
  



End file.
